You wake up. The way the sun kisses your eyelids, you squirm under the covers. The bed is so soft, so warm. In this bliss your muggy mind has yet to join you in reality. There is a brief period of pure sensation as your brain leaves fantasy behind. It took just a little longer, today, for you to come back from your dreams, but now your consciousness is pressed up tight against those eyelids. Pressing against the warmth of the sun. You open your eyes.
Immediately your pupils dilate, and the edge of involuntary movement snaps the world into focus. You're in your room: a room you've woken up to for the past 17 years, but never really noticed. There is the stack of binders, English, Maths, Photography, East West, that you've lugged around for the past year. You start to wonder how they got into your room. Winkel, Grgach, Clark, Peters, who invited you into my morning tapestry? Now that you are able to actually see your room, you start to realize just how messy it is. Oh well, you have time to become a more organized person. Heck, you could start organizing now. But there are other things to do. Like thank your mother for moving your binders. She must have brought the binders up: they are far too neatly stacked. It's too bad you didn't leave your nice clothes out the night before. You could have stayed in bed longer. Alas, this is not the case, so you roll onto the floor and fling open the closet door.
Now, what exactly will you wear? Perhaps the shirt from your Junior Prom? You always liked that shirt. You snort as you remember that most of your friends' shirts did not make it through the night. What if one of them is topless save a vest under their gowns? What about you? Is this your chance to rebel, to stand out? Are you finally going to make a statement: break the mould you've so carefully created over the years? Nah, there'll be time for that later. Anyway, someone else can do it, they always do. No, you're just going to enjoy the celebration.
You're dressed up to the nines, your teeth are shining. You've thanked your mom profusely throughout the whirlwind of morning activities, and dashed out to the car. Hold on. You've forgotten your yearbook. There are still a couple people left you want to squeeze any last minute confessions out of, after all. Okay, good. Tie, check. Dress shoes, check. Pants, check. You hope this pair won't split in the middle of the ceremony. You laugh. It's happened before, really. One last check in the rearview mirror and you're golden. One last hurdle, you're think, one last hoop to jump through...
Then what? You're driving, a little bit on the fast side (you shouldn't have taken all that time to quaff your hair), and this thought hits you hard and fast. Breathe. Alright, you're still driving, you haven't hit anything. It was just a thought. Then what, you try again, tentatively this time. You still have a good ten minutes of driving left before you get there, ample time to quietly assess your entire life and its trajectory as you know it. You missed the homeroom photo in 6th grade because your nose was bleeding. Has this in some way pushed you onto a different route? Are you interested in music and books, now, because you had a friend who read the Pillars of the Earth in 6th grade and always challenged how you conceptualized the world? Oof, heavy stuff.
Still five minutes to go. There's a bit of time to think about your friends, too. You hope Olivia writes a really good book. Something you won't be able to show to your future children until they've hit high school, themselves. You hope Kelsey's new pharmaceutical company combines biology and engineering in such a way that even the test bunnies want to try the new products. You hope that Emily figures out how to grow a house. You hope that Hunter never stops finding something in America to be proud of. You hope for a lot of things. You've arrived, though, and all these imagined futures must be suspended for the time being. You step out of the car, heart shaking with blood and cheesy grin plastered to your face. You're not even walking yet and you're this giddy. You really hope you don't trip and fall.
All of the pep talking, cajoling, comforting went by in a flash. It was hard to figure out how to put the gown on, but otherwise the day just sped by. Now you're walking. The band is playing something you assume is Pomp and Circumstance, though in your giddy state for all you know it might be Stairway to Heaven. As you pass the stage, your unfocused eyes catch glimpses of your teachers. Your mentors. There's Mr. Winkel. He's about to give a speech and he doesn't even look phased. God you wish you could be like him. There's Mrs. Flaherty. If she hadn't broken you in Honors Geometry, you might never have fully appreciated the intricacies of math. Or the fragility of the human mind. There's Mrs. Shugrue. She always pushed you by measuring you against yourself. That's a pretty neat concept: it doesn't matter how you compare with those around you. What matters is knowing your accomplishments and tackling the gargantuan task of setting new ones. Like knowing that you can walk, and setting the goal not to trip on the way up to the stage. You're very glad you're not wearing heels.
“Thomas? Thomas flippin’ Greenberg?”
I look up from the rucked pages I’ve been flipping through for the past four hours. The last page contained type-smudged “silver green eyes” and “sea churned and tugged at me.” As the novelty clock ticked ever on behind my crooked head the last page had lain open for a majority of the last hour. As the smaller of the arms marched towards noon my head had stuck upon my mumbling gut.
“Huh? Yeah? Oh, sorry how can I help you?”
I look up from the book that might as well have been blank. The face that meets me is old and familiar. There are certain faces that occur and reoccur in small towns like this.
“Ed Benson. From mid-town. I used to babysit you when you were just a spud.”
“Of course I remember you, Ed. How have you been?”
My finger never leaves the page, wedged in the spine’s crevice.
“I’ve been better. This town, too. Did ya see that the coffee shop across the road has shut down? I would say good riddance, but it was the only thing keepin’ young things like yerself here.”
“Yeah, real shame,” I respond, holding the page.
You stumble, the house stumbles, your vision jerks⸺
Alicia, Alice, Alex⸺
Alex felt the stumbling, too, you know. He’s spewing, hard. You laugh, you think, but he doesn’t respond⸺
He’s not responding, but he’s stumbling, you’re stumbling. You think you call for help. You leave your boots⸺
Stumble home shoeless⸺
“We are writing to the faculty and student body...one of our students suffered severe alcohol poisoning last night...He is currently in critical condition...”
You think about nothing on the train home. You listen to music, nothing music, and really you feel the rhythm of the tracks beneath you. You just switched train lines onto familiar Metro North with it’s shit timing and shit conductors. You roll sweet, hard candy on your sick tongue.
“Thomas? Thomas fucking Greenberg?”
I hear Avi through the glass before I see her pressing her nose against the window, hands cupping her eyes to see into the store. I haven’t seen Avi in ages and she looks so different.
Ring, cashing, thunk.
“Hey, I haven’t seen you in⸺”
I am precariously balanced as I fix the window display, one foot on a shelf, another stretched across to the top of the display case. In my hands gossamer threads connect paper cut-outs taped to the ceiling, my arms reaching for the opposite corner.
“Senior Year⸺” I say accidentally interrupting Avi as she says, “8th Grade⸺”
Well Senior Year I didn’t really see that many people, I guess. My foot slips, and I come crashing down into the display.
There’s a moment of silence and shock before Avi starts laughing.
“C’mon, asshat, ditch this place, we have to catch up.” Avi reaches to help me up. “Why are you even here?”
“I could ask you the same question,” I say as I pull her into the display.
“I’m picking up some electronics from home. Now you.”
“I’m here for good.” I say sheepishly.
“Weren’t you at⸺”
“Yep.”
“No more college?”
“Yep.”